


Among the Smoke and the Stars

by gaslight



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Epilogue, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, John Marston Deserves Happiness, M/M, Reunions, Sass & Sarcasm, Smut, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaslight/pseuds/gaslight
Summary: For John Marston, nowhere felt like home. Not since the gang fell apart. The problem wasn’t the place nor the people there, it washim. Most days the urge to run and roam coursed so hot under his skin it was a wonder he hadn't burned up from the inside out yet. If he could just pay off Beecher’s Hope and have somewhere that his family and friends could live, grow, and be safe then maybe, just maybe, his restless bones would stop trying to jump clean out of him.Determined to pay off that bank loan, John goes to Gaptooth Breach in search of Esteban Cortez and the sixty-five dollars on his head. The thing is John isn't the only one after that bounty.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 89





	Among the Smoke and the Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poetica (TheFire_in_the_NightSky)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFire_in_the_NightSky/gifts).



> Secret Santas are all fun and games until you wind up getting an author whose writing leaves you in awe. *Laughs nervously.*
> 
> I've been struggling with writing lately so I took your reunion/happy ending epilogue AU prompt and had some fun with it. It's meant to be mostly light-hearted, full of feels, and nothing says Christmas like action sequences and an explicit rating, right?
> 
> A huge thanks to [WhyWouldIEver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyWouldIEver/pseuds/WhyWouldIEver) (whose Morston fics you should check out if you haven’t yet) for putting up with me while writing this.
> 
> I hope you and everyone else will enjoy it!

The desert was never as empty as it led one to believe. That was part of the appeal. Gaptooth Ridge was lonely in a dangerous sort of way and John felt more alive out here than in some city bursting at the seams. The land was rough and rugged, torn up by hills and mountains hacked out of the earth. Couldn’t let his guard down when there were so many places to hide. Arthur once said the desert existed out of pure spite, smiling in that sheepish way of his when John blinked in confusion. He understood now though. Out here not even the clouds wanted to stick around so the sun beat down like it wanted to break him and every spec of life that hadn’t already gone to dust. Most of it had. Sand was goddamn everywhere. Blowing over the faint trails. Dirtying up Rachel’s fine brown coat. Probably in the lines around his scowl as he tried to shush his sweetheart of a Thoroughbred.

“S’alright, darlin’,” he whispered, running a hand along Rachel’s neck. “Never you mind them.”

Sounded like a couple of geniuses were playing with dynamite down by the old mine. His bounty better not blow himself up before he got there. Last thing John wanted was a puzzle of limbs to piece together.

“Quit being a menace and go ride it out!” Abigail had rightfully shooed John out a few days back after their fourth argument that morning. In retrospect, fighting about whether to arrange their new bookshelf alphabetically or by height _was_ pretty dumb. “You got that trapped animal look about you again. Just don’t do anything stupid, you hear?”

John almost said he couldn’t do anything stupider than buy a ranch he couldn’t hope to pay off but thought better of it. Weren’t her fault he didn’t think things through before taking out the loan. That wasn’t even the worst of it. Outside of hammering nails into planks of wood for months on end, what did John Marston know about building a home? Life on the run wasn’t the best teacher and there weren’t many examples to draw from. Not that cabin in the Ozarks where they hunkered down that first bitter winter. Not Dawson City where Abigail and John realized that while they worked better as friends, there was no one else they’d rather fight back against the world with. The jury was still out on West Elizabeth but given the pattern, the problem was _him_ and not the physical space itself.

Nevertheless, when John caught wind of sixty-five dollars for Esteban Cortez, he let it blow him across New Austin. What was done was done and the thought of a foreclosure sign slapped over the doors of his newly built house was not one he would entertain. Once the idea of having a home came to him, where his family and friends could live, grow, and be safe together, John grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. Never mind that the concept of settling down was as foreign to him as some long dead language he was a thousand years too late to learn. He’d get the money. Somehow.

“You know,” Charles said somewhere in the back of his head as John followed the road into Gaptooth Breach, “this is the sort of stupid thing Abigail wants you to avoid.”

Probably. The Del Lobo Gang, the current terror of New Austin, had taken over the mining settlement. Easy to see why. The mine itself offered protection as did the abandoned buildings, boulders, and stacks of wood scattered about. John wasn’t worried though. After all, Sadie and him nabbed Ramón Cortez. How hard could it be to make it two-for-two?

“I swear, one more boom and he’s gonna come up here and take your head off!”

Sheriff Freeman was right. The rat _had_ found a dark hole to hide in. A henchman had come out of the mine to reprimand the four troublemakers on Cortez’s behalf. They didn’t take the second-hand death threats seriously, firing back dismissive retorts. The exchange gave John ample time to leave Rachel in the shade of a dilapidated cabin, take cover behind a pile of wooden logs, and check his Schofields. Six cartridges a piece. Good. Hopefully it’d be enough. The sheriff’s advice to count the bodies wasn’t exactly helpful for estimating how many Del Lobos were crawling around.

Now if John wanted to be a real son of a bitch, he could send a bullet into the dynamite they were playing with. But he figured it’d be better to give them a chance to save themselves. When Cortez’s mouthpiece retreated, John strolled towards the four men loitering by the warehouse. Couldn’t say he was surprised when they went from double-takes to whipping out their shotguns.

“You want a stick of dynamite shot out of your hand,” John snarled, “or you want to tell me where Esteban Cortez is at?”

The one in front bobbed on his knees, ready to dive under the nearby wagon. “I don’t think it’s as simple as—”

Fragments of his skull and brain splattered against the wagon like an overly ripe tomato thrown at a wall. The largest chunks had barely started to slide down before John jumped back and fanned his revolver. Got one, two, all three in the chest before the first man slumped to his knees, blood gushing from where the top half of his head used to be. John hit the dirt and scrambled behind a stack of wooden slabs. Where had that bullet come from? His gaze darted around and around until—there! Near the mine entrance, a large man wearing a brown gambler hat with a rifle slung over his broad back was climbing down the rocks.

“Hey!” John yelled, popping up as the other bounty hunter hurried inside. “Hey! That’s my bounty!”

Just his luck. The light fell away as he tore after the thieving bastard into the mine. Rock dust rushed over like a downpour and John waved his hands through the mess. Spanish curses and rapid fire flooded his ears; the noise and its echoes enveloped him whole. The bounty hunter had left a trail of death in his wake. John jumped over the body of the irritable Del Lobo from before who was oozing out all over the mine car tracks. Another was crumpled against the rock wall with his neck twisted too far to the left. Further in the dark, John spotted a bright-red box of dynamite just in time to watch it explode.

“Shit!”

The blast didn’t get him. His feet did. John stumbled backwards and his skull got acquainted with ground faster than he would’ve liked. Pulses of blacks and reds consumed his vision. He had barely enough of his wits left to cover his head before debris rained down. When it finally stopped, John lay half-dazed with a teeth-grinding headache in the rubble until his lungs reminded him breathing was important. John coughed his way into sitting up and lamely tried to bat away the clouds of dust.

“Come on, pendejo!”

Deeper in the mine, the familiar grunts and smacks of a fistfight could be heard. John didn’t know whose stray bullet sent him flying and didn’t care. Hopefully Cortez would kill the would-be thief. Save him the trouble. Either way, there would be no compromise. No splitting the money in half. John was going to get what he came for just as soon as the world stopped weaving. Braced again a wooden pillar, John shook his head until the blurs overhead became hanging lanterns once more. There. That’s better. He spat to rid his mouth of grit then placed Arthur’s hat back onto his throbbing head where it belonged.

Guns ready and eyes narrowed, John stalked forward. Down ahead the tunnel had caved in, trapping the bounty hunter who had just hoisted Esteban Cortez onto his shoulders. The hogtied man sounded as pissed off as John felt, squirming and swearing instead of heeding his captor’s order to “pipe down.” He was definitely the younger of the Cortez brothers, face less lined and still boasting a full head of thick, black hair. They also shared the same wide nose and filthy mouth to boot.

“Ah, is this your puto? Ha! You look the type, you—”

Cortez hit the ground like a sack of dirt and burst open into a new set of colorful curses.

“Move aside, partner.” John pulled back both hammers for emphasis.

The bounty hunter didn’t raise his hands despite the two warning clicks. He just stood there. Dumbstruck. John eyed him uneasily. What was this fool’s game? Perhaps pretend to be an idiot until John got close enough to grab? Good luck.

“You not hear me? I ain’t leavin’ without what I came for. Move. Aside.”

The bounty hunter lifted his head and the low light of the lanterns seeped past the brim of his hat. “You gonna shoot, Marston? Or you gonna keep wastin’ my time?”

Well.

It had finally happened.

Thick as his skull was there were only so many head injuries a man could sustain before some permanent damage was done. Clearly, he had hit his head harder than he thought because there was no reason for Arthur Morgan to be standing before him.

A day didn’t go by when John didn’t think about Arthur. Every time his fingers skimmed across the pages of his incomplete journal and John tried to see the world through _his_ eyes by putting pencil to paper. When everything became too still, his low, gruff voice filled the silence. Don’t look back. Easier said than done. Often the pull was too strong. Whenever John reread some of what Arthur had written, he’d miss him all the more and regret what could have been. If he thought too long about the life he was leading, the wrongness grew impossible to ignore. How it should be Arthur, not him, standing before a ranch slowly taking shape. A quiet life was Arthur’s dream. Meanwhile like the scars on his face or the revolver at his hip, John couldn’t imagine himself without the urge to run and roam burning under his skin like wildfire.

“There better be a goddamn doctor in Tumbleweed,” John muttered, shoving his revolvers back into their holsters. Real or not, John could never shoot Arthur.

Arthur laughed at that, rich and full, and it brought him back to those final months where that sound had been so rare. Shaking his head didn’t chase away the hallucination. Broad-shouldered and thick-muscled; a bandolier strapped over his wide expanse of chest. Arthur. _His_ Arthur. Built once more like he could withstand any force of nature and was one himself. There wasn’t a trace of the illness that took him away from John and all those who loved him.

“What is this?” Cortez sneered, rolling onto his back with a wheeze. “Some sorta reunion for idiots? Shoot him, you fool!”

“Now, I don’t have a gag,” Arthur said dryly, “but I ain’t above stuffin’ my sock into your mouth so I’d shut it if I were you.”

A sudden flare of pain across the back of his skull made John wince. Maybe he was a doppelganger. Or a phantasm. Like the ghost in the Saint Denis cemetery, the lonely robot up near Colter, or the top-hat wearing gentleman aboard the Blackwater ferry who vanished upon approach, John didn’t understand any of this and wasn’t sure he wanted to. When “Arthur” reached for him, John did the only thing that made sense to him in that moment.

He punched him in the face.

“Ha! Ha! There you go!” Cortez erupted into obnoxious laughter. “Hit him again!”

A sharp ache exploded across John’s knuckles as his fist collided with the man’s jaw, snapping his head hard to the left. Not expecting his hand to hit anything but air, John stared at it in horror.

“What was it…Marston? I like you! Let’s make a deal, huh? You kill this old bastard, untie me, and I’ll give you a quarter, no, half! Yes, half of the gold we found in this mine so far. What you say?”

Arthur staggered backwards and spat, scowl blooming as he wiped his bloodstained lips across the sleeve of his dark brown duster. “Still got cobwebs for brains, huh? You sure as shit ain’t got any smarter since—Marston!”

“Come back, cabrón! What about our deal?”

They kept on calling but John kept on walking.

Arthur was alive.

_Alive._

How was that even possible?

Shock and outrage had his insides churning and heat scalding its way throughout his body. Funny that smoke wasn’t blowing out his ears yet because John was ready to breathe fire. Couldn’t think about anything other than getting out. If he had stayed, he would have taken another swing at Arthur and another and another. His fury was as blinding as the southwestern sunlight that engulfed him upon running out of the mine. Raised hands did little to block the glare as John squinted at his surroundings. Abandoned warehouse. Rocks. Sand. Four dead bodies. Dust obscuring the cart tracks. Good. At least everything out here was normal.

“Still runnin’ from everything, John?” Despite having a fully-grown man on his shoulders, Arthur was quickly gaining on him. “Christ’s sakes.”

Excuse me? _He_ was the one who pulled an eight-year vanishing act! “You got a lot of nerve—” Three men on horseback loomed above the mine with rifles. “Watch out!”

Gunfire seemed to fill Gaptooth Breach. The blasts ricocheted from every direction like fireworks set loose indoors, (a mistake John would not make again), and it sounded a lot worse than it was. Nevertheless, he dove to safety behind the wagon and took a deep, if shaky breath, then got his revolvers back out. John peered around the edge. Turned out the newly-arrived Del Lobos weren’t even interested in him.

“Shoot him! Not me!” Cortez shouted before crashing into the ground face-first again.

Gunfire chased Arthur to a low stack of doomed wooden planks where splinters from the bullets flew out like sparks. Forced to lie flat on his stomach to avoid getting killed, he was having a hell of a time drawing his guns. Two of the three Del Lobos were steadily making their way down, using the jagged, protruding boulders to protect themselves. Even if John wanted to help, the angle was terrible. He would have to run out into the open.

“Marston! Stay there and don’t move!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

The familiarity of it—Arthur bossing him around and refusing to ask for help—made John clench his jaw so hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t start shooting out of his mouth from the pressure. Heart pounding wildly in his chest and somewhere in the back of his mind, he jumped to his feet and fired at the three Del Lobos. John didn’t bother to watch them fall from their horses. He knew his aim was true. Didn’t look back at Arthur neither. Instead he kept his sights locked on Cortez. So coated with dirt, his jacket hardly looked blue anymore. He was desperately trying to inchworm his way to freedom.

Not on his watch.

“You killed my brothers,” Cortez groaned as John lifted him up and whistled loud. “Damn the both of you!”

“They asked for it.” He wasted no time, tossing the outlaw onto Rachel’s rump before swinging himself up onto the saddle.

“Where you goin’ with my bounty?”

Amusement had returned to Arthur’s voice. The bastard was just sitting there. Legs stretched out. Leaning back on his hands. Staring at John like he was the most amusing but baffling piece of art he ever laid eyes on. Angrier than a bull with red paint slapped over its eyes, John rode out of there before he said something he’d really regret.

The gnarled limbs of Joshua trees and their shadows which were starting to crawl east whipped by faster and faster as Rachel got up to a gallop in no time. Dirt spewed from either side as she rode hard and his head pounded with every step. Thank heavens his girl apparently knew the way back to Tumbleweed. She could have soared off a cliff and John wouldn’t have noticed because he had been freefalling through memories ever since Arthur first spoke.

John remembered how the knife glinted in the waning light as Arthur gently cut the noose from his still bleeding neck. Arthur tearing after his “no-good, skinny, thievin’ ass” after John gobbled up the box of chocolates intended for Mary. Fighting off lawmen back-to-back and then patching each other up afterwards. Late nights around the campfire talking about everything and nothing at all. Coming to blows over something stupid in the morning. Drinking buddies again by the evening. Getting turned down time and again by a bewildered (and increasingly flustered) Arthur. “I’m not what you want, Marston,” he’d say, unable to look him in the eye. John showing Arthur he could never want anything but him time and again. The look of hatred when he came back after that misguided year away that didn’t thaw until it was too late.

When Charles spoke about returning to Beaver Hollow his voice was heavy; weighed down by unnecessary guilt like he considered being unable to find Arthur a personal failing. The thought of him being lost among the bones of the fallen littered all over that godforsaken mountain sent John spiraling into the pit of self-loathing and regret. He should’ve stayed, should’ve refused to leave when Arthur told him to go, should’ve gone back, should’ve punched him harder because that son of a bitch wasn’t lost at all! Arthur was _fine_.

“Hey!” Cortez shouted loud enough to cut through the questions cluttering his head. “Who do you think you are?”

“You heard my name plenty back there.”

“What about our deal? Half of the gold is yours!”

“Gaptooth Breach is an ore mine. Way I figure it? The only place you’d find gold is up your own ass so I’ll pass on that deal.”

“You think you’re funny, huh? You think you’re a big man? You—”

John casually slapped him. “You know, the wanted poster didn’t mention how many teeth you still need to have when I hand you over. Keep it up and I’ll knock ‘em out. One-by-one!”

“Curse you, bounty hunter!” Cortez sneered. “You think you’re a hero? Puto!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh. Before I forget—” John gave Cortez a shit-eating grin. “—I knew your brother. Ramón put up more of a fight than you did.”

A flash of hatred hardened his gaze. “I hope that big brute hunts you down like the dog you are and slits your throat!”

Shit. John didn’t think about what Arthur would do when he caught up to him. He wouldn’t go that far, of course, but he’d find some way to get back at him. Cortez must’ve thought he scared John into silence because he cackled all the way up the hill upon which Tumbleweed sat. Dust worked like a haze, obscuring the large saloon, the little shops, and the windmill in the distance. Looked like a ghost town until he got close enough to see the few townsfolk who were hardy enough to meander about in the heat of the day. Most stuck to the shade, quietly watching this new development.

“You’re not the law!” Cortez shouted as John hoisted him over his shoulders. Two deputies loitering by the side of the small brick jail sniggered and thanked John for doing their jobs them. Even the magnificent golden stallion hitched to Rachel’s left seemed to cast a judgemental eye towards the wriggling bounty. “You’re not an outlaw! You’re just a bastard.”

“Ooh, ouch. Mind my feelings, would ya?”

Excited to get his hands on that beautiful sixty-five dollars, John strolled on inside. “You asked for Esteban Cortez? Here’s the—” Arthur was leaning against the back wall with his hat tilted low and arms crossed over his quickly rising and falling chest. “—son of a bitch! How’d you get here first?”

Apparently the smuggest of smirks was supposed to suffice for an answer. Going for nonchalance though John suspected he was simply out of breath.

“Mr. Cortez, we meet at last.” The no-nonsense Sheriff Freeman folded his hands and rested them on his stomach, easing back in his chair slightly. He acknowledged John with a nod before flicking his chin at the jail cell. “Mr. Milton—”

Arthur mouthed the surname in disbelief. John mouthed “shut up” right back then dumped Cortez onto the barebones cot in the cell.

“—Mr. Callahan said that you two worked together to capture Cortez. Is this true?”

“Yeah,” John grunted, slamming the barred door shut harder than necessary. “I suppose.”

“He’s lying! That rat bastard stole him from the other bastard!”

“How very interesting, Mr. Cortez.” Sheriff Freeman pulled the money out of his desk drawer. While dividing their shares, he explained why bounties would no longer be posted here. John didn’t hear much of it nor whatever Cortez was calling him. The flecks of gray in Arthur’s hair and thick beard were too loud.

Half of him wanted to tackle Arthur and demand answers to questions he wasn’t sure he had the gumption to ask. How was he alive? How could he not try to track him or any of them down? How could he not try to contact any of them? John always checked if there were any letters for Tacitus Kilgore and read the papers almost religiously. Just in case. Did fourteen years together mean nothing? Did whatever they had between them that both were too stupid and too scared to put into words mean nothing to him?

The other half was torn between wanting to laugh and cry and just plain didn’t know what to do with itself. Arthur was alive and it was strange and wonderful and confusing. Miracles weren’t supposed to happen to men like them. He actually wanted to hug the sour-faced bastard despite knowing he’d get a well-deserved fist to the face for it. Above all John wanted to thank Arthur profusely even though no words could express the depth of his gratitude for someone he thought had died so that he and his family could live.

In the face of indecision and guilt, John did neither.

“Keep it.” John pushed his share towards a visibly stunned Arthur before promptly storming out.

“S’always gotta be a goddamn drama with you, don’t it?” Arthur didn’t let him get far, latching onto John’s arm before he even got close to the saloon. “Ain’t you a bit old for temper tantrums?”

“Funny you say that, when it don’t get more dramatic than showin’ up alive after eight goddamn years!”

“Y’know if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you missed me. That it, Johnny?” Arthur gave him a lecherous grin. “I’m _touched_.”

“Touched in the head is more like it.” Rather than tear free from his grip, John resorted to getting too up close and personal for Arthur. “Do me a favor and go back to whatever hole in the ground you crawled out of!”

Noses now touching, Arthur backed off with an annoyed glare. The only reason John didn’t succumb to snickering was because he was too caught up in the new lines stretching out from the corners of Arthur’s eyes and lips. Hopefully they were etched there by laughter and the joys of a happier life.

“You want me to go, Marston? Hm? Pretend we never saw one another and just carry on as we were? Can you do that?” Arthur had always been good at calling out John on his bullshit. The man understood John better than himself at times. Not every time but this _was_ one of them. John seethed in silence and somehow that was answer enough. “That’s what I thought. C’mon.”

“Where we going?”

“Does it matter?”

No.

Not really.

Where Arthur went, John followed.

\--

Night never came in a hurry to New Austin so when the darkness finally spilled over and dripped down into the crevices of the parched land, it was nothing short of a relief. Well, for everyone and everything that was not John Marston at least. The heat had died with the day and a breeze off Lake Don Julio rustled the sparse grass around him, but his blood still ran hot. Vest and shirt discarded, John would’ve shucked off his pants too but managed to restrain himself. Couldn’t blame the campfire nor the whiskey. No, this was Arthur’s fault. The excitement of finding him hadn’t worn off even after several days of riding together. John couldn’t tell if he was happy or nervous or what but it felt like a dozen hummingbirds had taken roost in his ribcage, fluttering wildly every time Arthur so much as looked his way.

“How has Abigail not shot Uncle yet?” Arthur wiggled his fingers as he reached for the dwindling bottle of whiskey in John’s hands. “Can’t believe that parasitic old coot is still leechin’ off people.”

“How you think he’s lasted so long?” John took one last swig then passed it over. “As for Abigail, hell if I know. It’s a mystery how her patience hasn’t dried up after years of dealin’ up with me.”

“She was always better than you deserved. Should’ve left you the moment “Yukon” came outta your mouth.” Arthur tilted the bottle far back, grimaced, held it upside-down, then carelessly tossed it behind them. “Goin’ all the way up to the goddamn edge of map. What were you thinkin’, Marston?”

“I was _thinking_ about putting as much distance possible between New Hanover and my family without crossing an ocean. Sure, the gold was long gone when we got there but we did fine. Until I screwed everything up, of course.”

“That _is_ what you do best.”

“Don’t need to tell me that.” John swallowed thickly as Arthur playfully squeezed his knee.

His touch was like a brand searing into his skin and his hand came down over Arthur’s before he could stop himself. Their fingers weaved and neither spoke. That had been their way over the last few days. Conversations riddled with holes large enough to fall in because it was easier to skirt around rather than attempt the treacherous task of filling them. They didn’t talk about the gang, how people don’t just heal from tuberculosis, nor how Arthur walked away from the mountain whereas Micah’s beaten and mangled corpse had been found at base. He mentioned something about Rains Fall giving him a trinket but that didn’t make sense. They didn’t talk _them_ neither. In good time, he hoped, but for now John would take this. Arthur was here. With him. Sassy and surly as ever. Still pretending to be made of stone when if you sliced the bastard open you’d probably find butter. Hearing about those who got out because of him—praise he refused to accept—made the hard set of his face crumble. Tilly in particular had him blinking rapidly and trying to hide under that new hat of his. For some reason he didn’t want his old things back.

“Where’d you go?” John murmured, not sure what he was and was not allowed to ask. Arthur hadn’t given him a straight answer as to how he was alive.

“Out west. Got myself good and lost like we should’ve done all them years ago. Mostly laid low and worked with horses on different ranches—what you smiling for?”

“Nothing.” John glanced at their horses resting peacefully together. Rachel took an immediate liking to Arthur whereas Buell tried to take a bite out of John. It amused him to no end that the stallion was as ornery as his owner. “Just glad you were doing something that made you happy is all.”

“Yeah, well.” He ducked his head. “Had to keep outta trouble somehow and good hands don’t get asked too many questions. Not ‘til folks get too comfortable but I never stayed anywhere long enough for that. Suppose that’s what brought me to New Austin. Nowhere ever felt right to settle, y’know?”

“Sure,” John grunted, pulling his hand free to stand up. “I know.”

“I say something wrong?”

Hosea once told him his bones were so restless it was a wonder they hadn’t jumped clean out of his skin yet. Twenty years had passed and John wasn’t any better but apparently neither was Arthur. Nowhere felt like home. Not since the gang fell apart. But this? Sitting with Arthur in the middle of nowhere among the smoke and the stars. This felt right. John felt whole in ways he hadn’t in years and it burned him to know that had luck not been on their side for a change, they may never have found each other again.

“I mourned you,” John said in a low, growl of a voice.

“You think I didn’t?” Arthur snapped, standing up as well. “Kept my ear to the ground for years but I didn’t hear a word. What else was I supposed to think?”

“Why didn’t you come after us?” John moved closer. “When you came down from that mountain? Shit, I would’ve come back if I knew—”

“Exactly. You would’ve put yourself and your family in danger ‘cause you ain’t got a lick of sense. That’s why I didn’t follow. Figured you’d head north so I went west.” Arthur talked over John’s angry outburst. “I didn’t wanna risk bringing the law down on you. I wanted you to have a chance at a normal life, Marston!”

“What is it with you and everyone else always thinkin’ you know what’s best for me, huh?” John got in Arthur’s face. “My life ain’t for you to decide. We could’ve had a normal life! We could’ve—”

“John, I got more than enough regrets to string together and hang myself with. We could’ve done a lot of things differently but we didn’t.”

“You’re right. I don’t know ‘bout you but I’m done with regrets.”

Arthur must’ve known what was coming. There wasn’t anything subtle about the way John had been prowling towards him. There was a flicker of a smile before John seized the black bandana around Arthur’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. His heart jolted like it had been struck by lightning from within. The remnants frayed and crackled along his skin, escaping through his fingertips as they grappled at Arthur. There was a desperation to it. A kiss made harsh by all the things they wanted to say but couldn’t get past their soon-to-be-bruised lips. Both were too pent up for any sort of finesse. Angry at themselves, at each other, at the world for keeping them apart. Eight years was a long time. Too long. He didn’t know what lives Arthur had led without him, if he had fallen for another, or where they’d go after this. John didn’t want to think about any of that. Not now.

“See the years ain’t blessed you with any patience,” Arthur grunted, panting hot and heavy against John’s chin. “Or you just forget how to use your mouth for anythin’ other than arguing?”

“You want something?” John grasped him between his legs, baring his teeth in delight when Arthur’s cock twitched from his touch. “Gotta ask nicely for it.”

Arthur smiled with all the fondness in the world even as he grabbed a fistful of John’s hair and pulled hard. A depraved sound somewhere between a hiss and a laugh escaped before John got his revenge with a retaliatory squeeze. The hitch in Arthur’s breath sent all the blood south embarrassingly fast, leaving John near light-headed as infuriatingly soft pecks were pressed along his jawline.

“Kiss me,” Arthur whispered, nipping the soft flesh just below John’s ear. “Properly.”

Nice enough, John supposed, dipping his head down so their swollen lips met once more. This time they glided over one another without haste and John gently cupped Arthur’s face, smoothing his thumbs over the soft beard. After a soft hum of approval, Arthur parted his lips. John licked eagerly into his mouth. Their tongues got reacquainted over the taste of the whiskey they had shared, brushing and curling lazily against each other. He wanted to show Arthur that he had, in fact, developed _some_ self-control with age but then he had to go and deliberately press his thigh into John’s hardening flesh. Desperate for more, John groaned and writhed against him, practically melting into the kiss. Poor Arthur to wrap a strong arm around him as they sank down onto the grass. There was no elegance about it. Just two men scrambling to tear off each other’s clothes while maintaining as much contact as possible. Not exactly thinking straight, John tried to rid Arthur of his pants before the man had removed his boots. Meanwhile Arthur was shrugging off his coat and mouthing his way down John’s throat when he decided to loop two fingers around the red strip of fabric there.

“What’s this?” Arthur grinned. “S’cute.”

“Shut up.” John sat heavy on Arthur’s lap and making sure to ground down on the bulge beneath him while hastily freeing his arms from his union suit.

Arthur moaned and tugged the fabric down to lick a stripe along the scar of the noose. “Thought maybe Abigail finally put a dog coll—” Several buttons went flying as John ripped Arthur’s shirt open. “—I liked that shirt, you ass.”

“I’ll buy you a new one, Sunshine.”

The old nickname earned John another deep kiss and several more which placated him just enough to show restraint as they worked together to rid themselves of the rest of their clothes. The dry blades of grass crunched under his bare legs as John straddled Arthur once more. It reminded him they have perfectly good bedrolls to make use of. John got a surprise when gestured towards their tents however.

“No.” Although he avoided John’s wandering eyes, unable to stop himself from drinking in Arthur’s bare body like it was the finest of wines, his voice was firm. “Wanna see you.”

Heart hammering away like it wanted to break through his chest, John watched

As Arthur’s heated stare drifted up his body, John’s heart started hammering away like the goal was to break through his chest. His hands followed suit and took its sweet time as well. Moving from where the wolves slashed open his thighs to his torso, now filled in thanks to years of hard labor and regular meals. Arthur looked up at John like he was the night sky; charting a new course along his marred skin like he wanted to memorize everything through touch alone. His fingers trailed from scar to scar—some old, some new—the way someone might connect the stars into constellations.

“Gettin’ sentimental with age, old man?” Feeling bashful, a toothy grin curled his lips. Even more so when Arthur sat up and their foreheads rested together. “Or did you miss me _that_ much?”

“You kiddin’?” Arthur snorted. “It was wonderful to have peace and quiet for a change.”

“Probably nice not having to rescue my fool ass every five seconds.”

“That was great too.” Arthur gestured at his new satchel. “I, uh, got somethin’ that’ll make it easier.”

As much as it pained John to get off of Arthur’s lap, he did, and hurried over to where it rested by their tents. When he found the half-used glass jar of Vaseline, John couldn’t help himself. “You hussy.”

“Watch it, boy.”

Boy? Still? Oh, _hell_ no. “I wouldn’t blame you for foolin’ around with others. Bet you’ve had scores of ladies and fellers pawin’ at you ‘cause somehow you’re even more handsome with all that gray hair.”

“Y’know what you sound like?”

“It’s downright _sinful_ how good you look, Arthur.”

“Like someone who wants to spend the night with his hand.”

“Jeez. Eight years and you still can’t take a compliment.”

An agitated huff blew from Arthur’s nose and John kissed his knee as an apology before spreading his legs. From under heavy-lidded eyes, Arthur watched and breathed deep as John took him in hand. “Gonna make an old man work?”

John stroked upward from the base to the tip, twisting along the way and loving how Arthur’s stomach muscles clenched and unclenched as he coated his length. “I ain’t old.”

Never one to sit back and do nothing, Arthur grabbed the jar, scooped out a dollop, and got to work the moment John straddled him again. Anticipation and a finger inside made it hard to relax but when a second was added, John let out a rough breath and dropped his head to Arthur’s shoulder. It had been a while since he had been with anyone—let alone being the one to receive—more preoccupied with ranch work and money as of late rather than sex. Shit. Maybe he _was_ getting old. But Arthur being Arthur he took his time, carefully scissoring him open while his other hand kneading the flesh of his ass.

“Y’know I missed you, right?” Arthur whispered. “Every goddamn day.”

“You can’t say—” John broke off with a hiss. “—shit like that ‘less you want me to come off early.”

Arthur teased John mercilessly for this but the taunts barely registered especially once there were three fingers stretching and probing, occasionally brushing the bundle of nerves that made him see stars. Slick with want, his cock was throbbing to the point John was actually starting to worry the fun might end before it got started.

“C’mon,” he growled, squirming restlessly and smearing some of what had leaked out of him onto Arthur’s stomach. “Enough with that.”

“Always in such a goddamn rush.”

One hand on Arthur’s shoulder for support, John used the other to ease the tip of Arthur’s cock into him with a choked huff of breath. Somehow when they were together it was always like the first time. It was more than Arthur being a lot to take—which he was, John’s teeth snagged his lip as he worked through the discomfort, adjusting his position twice and sinking down on Arthur’s length slower than he would’ve liked. Even when their places were reversed, John always got that same swell of giddiness because it was _Arthur_. Someone John had loved for so long, both in the flesh and as a ghost, he didn’t remember how to exist without him.

“That’s it, John,” Arthur sighed, easing down onto his elbows for a better view. “Easy now.”

When John was fully seated and flush with Arthur’s lap, he stilled and arched his back, breathing heavy as he tried to adjust. It was obscene how full he felt. Arthur had his hands on his hips; fingers copying his lips in trying to soothe him except through small circles rather than sweet nothings. Arthur’s stare was almost enough to make a man shy. Full of reverence, disbelief, and trust. It meant everything to John.

“Alright?” Arthur asked, voice strained.

“Fuckin’ _ecstatic_.”

Arthur snorted a bit too hard and ended up sneezing, which had John laughing obnoxiously and threw off the mood for a good moment. They got it back though as John braced his hands on the firm chest beneath him and started to move. Raising up slow before dropping down hard enough to knock the air and decency out of them. John wanted it to be overwhelming; wanted Arthur to feel an ounce of what he had felt from the moment their eyes met. With no one around for miles, they could be as loud as they liked and John relished every gasp and groan he pulled from those lips. He loved using Arthur as he pleased but soon found it wasn’t enough.

Desperate to hold him properly, John clawed impatiently at Arthur’s shoulders. “C’mere.”

Didn’t even have to beg. Arthur surged upward, wrapping his arms tight around John like someone might steal him away. Trapped between their sweat-slicked chests, his painfully rigid prick demanded attention but John held off in favor of hugging Arthur just as fiercely. He ran his fingers through Arthur’s disheveled hair before burying his face in it. Not sure when he got so soft but this? This was everything. The feeling of Arthur in his arms. To think they could have lost this forever. His lips dragged against Arthur’s forehead, panting heavily as he set a new, relentless pace.

“That’s it, darlin’,” Arthur’s teeth scraped the curve of John’s neck. “You’re so good, so good to me. Always been.”

White-hot heat pooled dangerously low in his belly and John could not feel any of the breeze though the flames of their campfire danced. Warm light illuminated the curves and hollows of their bodies in gold. There was a familiarity and a foreignness in the way they fit together. Strong muscles and hairy chests pressed together. Greedy hands grappling along sweat-soaked skin and insatiable mouths forever seeking more and more to taste and kiss. The thick, swollen cock inside him and his own leaking and bobbing with every bounce. It felt so natural, so _right_. Maybe that’s why the little differences stood out. The new scars. Small red slashes here and there joined the many others, whitened by age and spoke of a violent, former life. The self-cauterized shotgun wound which strictly speaking wasn’t new but John still pressed a kiss to it because he never got the chance to before. The wisps of gray turned silver in the firelight. His favorite change though? Arthur was a bit softer all over. That meant he was eating well and not working himself to the bone anymore. Even though he willingly would, John was determined to ensure Arthur would never again have to suffer or sacrifice himself for those he loved.

“Don’t ever—” John panted hoarsely, barely able to get the words out as he started to come undone. “—ask that of me again.”

“Don’t ask what?” Arthur picked up the slack, holding John steady and thrusting into him as his pace stuttered.

His breath hitched. “To leave you.”

“Never.” Arthur’s teeth are sharp against Johns’ ear. “Never again.”

That was enough. Mouth gaping, John came hard with Arthur’s name on his lips; fingers digging into his back and spilling all over their stomachs and chests.

When he was finally able to open his eyes, John found himself on his back. Arthur had taken over, keeping John’s legs spread wide as he slammed into him over and over. Borderline overwhelmed and winded from his own release, John could only whine and moan in encouragement. Forehead pressed hard into his collarbone, John couldn’t kiss Arthur like he desperately wanted to so instead he stroked his broad back. Covered in sweat and grit, the dirt got trapped under John’s fingernails as he scratched welts into skin, arching in delight when Arthur’s finally cock pulsed deep inside him.

It was an understatement to say they were an absolute disaster when it was over and it took a while to get cleaned up. Tired down to his very bones, tomorrow would be a slow start for sure but John would worry about that then. Right now all he wanted was to leech off of Arthur’s warmth and was delighted when by the time they stumbled back into camp, he barely had to pester him into curling up with him in his bedroll.

“You’re like a dog,” Arthur grumbled as John nuzzled his nose into his soft beard, almost wanting to apologize because he knew his stubble felt like sandpaper. “Keep that up and I’ll turn over.”

“That supposed to be a threat? I like that side just as much.” John’s hands went down but Arthur’s caught them before he could grab anything. “Maybe more.”

Surprisingly, he let that comment slide. John raised his head so they were eye-to-eye. As he blinked slower and slower, John’s mind drifted towards thoughts better had in the morning. What came next, namely. Not long after telling him about his ranch, John had found the sixty-five dollars tucked into one of Rachel’s saddlebags. Maybe it meant nothing but why give it up if Arthur was planning to come to West Elizabeth with him?

“Somethin’ wrong?” Arthur mumbled.

Why was he so easy to read? “Where do we go from here?”

As Arthur mulled over the question, he lightly traced the scars on his cheek like he had so many times before. When his finger trailed over his lips, John pressed a kiss to it.

“Well, I meant what I said. Been missin’ you for eight years. Eight fuckin’ years, John. I don’t intend on losing you ever again.”

“Home, then?”

“Sure.” Arthur kissed him. “Where you go, I’ll go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: I was originally going to call this 'Bounty' to add another one-word 'B' title to my list of fics but decided against it. Still not sure if I made the right decision lol.
> 
> Re: Supernatural Elements - I debated whether to include the tag because it's so briefly touched upon. I kept it vague because I figured Arthur wouldn't want to tell John just yet that literal magic (courtesy of the Owl Feather Trinket from the 'Archeology for Beginners' mission) cured him and gave him enough strength to straight up yeet Micah off the mountain.
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


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